No Mercy

EIGHTEEN

I woke the next morning with a freight train roaring in my ear and pinned beneath a railcar. I squirmed. The snoring stopped. A rough hand dragged up and down my naked back in a sweetly intimate wake-up call.

“How’s your head?” he murmured.

I mumbled and hoped he’d take the hint and let me sleep.

Dawson rolled me on my back, gently pushing away my snarled hair. He stared at me until I worried that warts had popped up on my face overnight. Or was he in shock by how bad I looked in the morning? I hadn’t been a fresh-faced, dewy-eyed ingénue for years. “What?”

“You let me stay.”

“I wasn’t exactly in any position to throw you out.”

His left eyebrow winged up. “Complaining about the positions we tried last night?”

My body burned hot as a branding iron remembering the sexual heat and the intensity and the synchronicity between us. “No. Good thing I practice yoga, huh?”

“Very good thing.” A shy smile tilted the corners of his mouth, then spread across his rugged face. Not necessarily a movie-star-handsome mug, but well worn. Interesting. A little tough, a little tender.

I smiled back.

“Although I am an old man and I’ll probably be feeling it all day.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ll need to raid Mr. Pawlowski’s stash of Viagra anytime soon.”

“Hey, that was almost a compliment, Gunderson.”

“It was a compliment, Dawson.” I traced the boxy shape of his jawline with my fingertips.

He turned his cheek into my hand and kissed my palm. “Are you gonna throw me out now?”

“I should. But how about if I make breakfast first.”

When Dawson headed to the bathroom, I escaped to the kitchen.

Cooking is not my forte. Food might help settle my stomach, although I couldn’t blame the way my insides jumped solely on too much liquid fun from the previous night.

While the coffee brewed, I tossed a half stick of butter and frozen hash browns in the cast iron frying pan, microwaved a package of bacon, and scrambled a half-dozen eggs.

I’d never mastered morning-after chitchat. Sex has never been a big thing for me, maybe because I’d gotten used to the feast or famine cycle of it. Been a dry spell lately.

The stairs creaked; my heart rate spiked. Christ. I’d had Sunnis shooting at me and I hadn’t reacted this skittishly.

Dawson poured himself a cup of coffee. “Want a reheat?”

“Sure.” I slid my mug across the counter and flipped the hash browns.

“If I were a gentleman I’d say you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, but damn, it smells too good to lie.”

The grandfather clock chimed seven times. “You proved you aren’t a gentleman a couple of times last night.”

“Mercy-”

“Butter the toast, Dawson. Everything else is almost done.”

He mumbled and grabbed the butter dish.

Once we sat down, I couldn’t help but watch him devour every morsel. Been a long time since I’d seen a man enjoy a meal with such… gusto. I shivered discreetly, recalling being on the receiving end of such single-minded concentration in another room of the house.

When we finished the meal, I poured more coffee.

He said, “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what? Last night?”

“Yes, but not the slamming, jamming sex. About before. Why you were getting drunk and picking fights at the bar.” Dawson held up a hand. “This is not an official interview. I’m asking as your friend.”

“Oh. So we’re friends now?”

He grinned. “Friends with naked benefits. Who pissed you off last night?”

“Geneva.”

His smile morphed into a frown. “Haven’t you been pals with her since you were both little cowgirls?”

“Yeah. Makes me wonder how long she’s been holding off on telling me how she really felt about me.”

“What’d she say?”

“That I’m a spoiled jet-setting ‘hobby rancher.’ It was time for me to grow up and become a responsible member of society. But if I sell my ranch, I’ll ruin her life… oh, and the lives of every single person in Eagle River County. A little contradictory, doncha think?” I sighed. “And Kit was sniffing around the other day basically saying the same thing.”

“He wants you to sell to him, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

Dawson’s gaze sharpened. “He threaten you?”

“No more than he did the last time.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am, too, friend. The truth is, I sort of went off on him when I found out Trey’s been his employee for the last year.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Not a clue.” I brooded into my coffee cup. “Does it make you wonder who else is in his employ?”

“Yeah. Kit hasn’t been telling anyone, even the people who work for him, who his investors are.”

“So Trey doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Neither does Laronda.”

“You asked her?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Part of me wondered how far Dawson had gone to pump Laronda for information.

“Evidently Kit thinks I’m the only thing standing between him and owning the ranch.”

“All the more reason to watch out for him. He’s up to something.”

I stood and refilled my cup. “I can handle Kit no problem.”

His chair scraped on the linoleum. From behind me he said, “I recognize the dismissal, so I’ll drop it for now. But if you need to talk, you know where to find me, okay?”

“Okay.” That was surprisingly easy.

“I have to go home and change before going into the office. Can Jake or Sophie give you a ride to your truck?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Can I get one for the road?”

I set down my cup and rummaged in the cupboard. “I don’t know if we have any Styrofoam cups with lids, Dawson.”

He turned me around. “I wasn’t talking about coffee.” Then his mouth came down on mine hard and he kissed the living daylights out of me.

I could scarcely breathe when he finally pulled back.

“Mercy Gunderson, you make me lose my ever-lovin’ mind.”

Dawson left without another word, which was good because I was pretty speechless anyway.

An hour later, I looked up from the Tri-State Livestock News when Jake said, “I’m borrowing the truck for a little while today. I need to haul the ATVs over to Bernie’s place. They’re running like a pack of crippled old dogs.”

“How about if I do it and save you the trip? I wanted to talk to him anyway about Axel, and this’ll give me a reason to show up.”

“Sure.” Jake didn’t demand to hear my plans, wasn’t his way, but I sensed his curiosity. “Another thing. Queenie’s back in the old barn. We need to talk about options with her. She’s old and that sore on her leg ain’t healing. The vet’s done everything he can.”

No one wanted to put down a horse, least of all Jake. “Whatever you think. You know I trust your judgment with the livestock.” I paused. “Where are the other horses?”

“TJ and Luke are keeping them at their place. With the ATVs out of commission they’ll need them for a couple of days.”

I pushed back from the table. “Let’s get them loaded up and I’ll try my luck with Bernie.”

About two thousand barking dogs greeted me as I pulled up to Bernie’s Repair Shop. The place was as junk filled and badly maintained as I’d expected-maybe a little worse. The shop itself was in better shape than the residence, a cobbled-together configuration of two trailers circa 1950.

A line of cars stretched from the start of the gravel driveway to the metal building housing the shop. I couldn’t tell if the building was intentionally that hideous shade of orange or if it’d been overrun by rust and naturally faded into an ugly pumpkin color. I backed the trailer to the biggest garage door.

Small tractors, ATVs, mowers in various states of disrepair were scattered like random victims of a machine apocalypse. I shooed the dogs off as I hopped out of the truck. The tailgate hinges on the trailer squeaked as I dropped the loading ramps to the ground.

Bernie showed up as I released the tie-downs. “Morning, Bernie. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Mercy Gunderson.” I didn’t offer my hand, knowing he wouldn’t shake it anyway. “Jake Red Leaf called you about taking a look at these?”

“Uh-huh. Which one is the throttle sticking on?” Bernie asked.

“I don’t know. I was on my way into town and got roped into being the delivery person.” Nice fib. I turned and caught my first good look at Bernie Rouillard. Typical Lakota man-his age was difficult to discern, somewhere between forty and sixty. He was tall and gangly with ridges and bumps on his face, due to fighting, teenage acne, and genetics. His black hair was chopped into a bowl style, which was unflattering even beneath his stained “Screaming Eagles” ball cap. Made me think of Josiah Hightower. I hoped this talk would be less cryptic than that one.

Bernie climbed into the trailer and popped the first machine into neutral and rolled it to the ground. He repeated the process with the second machine as I stood by the door.

“You gotta come in and sign a work order.”

“No problem.” I followed him inside the small, windowless office. “So Axel is your son?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He was friends with my nephew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Levi talked about him.”

Scribble scribble on the work-order tablet on the desk.

“In fact, I was at the Eagle River Community Center the other night, but I didn’t see Axel hanging out with Moser, Little Bear, and that crowd.”

“That’s because he don’t have nothing to do with any of them no more.”

“Really? How’d he manage that?”

Bernie shrugged.

I’m sure he expected me to drop my mostly one-sided conversation. I figured as long as I occasionally tossed in tidbits about upcoming repairs, he had no choice but to hear me out. The Gunderson Ranch paid in cash, paid on time, and I doubted he’d want to lose the income.

“Jake told me to tell you someone will be dropping the riding mower by later this week.”

“That mean you leaving the trailer here?”

“Yep.” I paused. “So Axel doesn’t have anything to do with the Warrior Society?”

“Nope.”

“Was that your suggestion? Or his decision?”

Bernie snorted. “That boy don’t listen to no one, least of all me. Jake say when he needed these machines done?”

“In the next couple days.”

He handed me the receipt. “Tell him I’ll be in touch. Have a good day.” Bernie swapped his ball cap for a welding mask on the desk and disappeared into the bowels of the shop. A deafening machine kicked on, distorting the air, followed by a steady flash of bluish-white light.

Talk about being dismissed. I left the office and tossed the tie-downs in the truck bed, dislodging the beer cans from the night at the dance; they were somehow still rolling around in the back of the pickup like macabre souvenirs.

I thought of Levi and the connection we’d finally forged that night. The feeling of loss made me angrier than ever. Why was I being stonewalled at every turn? Because of my gender? Because I wasn’t all Indian? Because of my father’s connection to law enforcement? Or was it something else? God. I knew how Dawson felt-inept and like an outsider. I slammed the door hard and smacked the steering wheel with the heels of my hands. “Goddammit!”

“My dad gets that reaction a lot,” came from the passenger’s side of the truck.

Startled, I whirled toward the kid crouched on the floorboard, clutching an enormous backpack. My eyes narrowed. “Axel?”

“Yeah. You’re Mercy. Levi Arpel’s aunt, right?”

“What are you doing stowed away in my truck?”

“I need a ride to town.”

“Why don’t you ask your dad?”

“He’s busy welding or some such shit.”

I laughed. “Nice try. If you’re gone, your dad will blame me.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll think I called my ma and she picked me up on the road. She does it all the time so she don’t gotta talk to him. Besides, it ain’t like I’m a prisoner. I can come and go when I want.”

“Yeah?” I gave him my best no-bullshit stare. “That’s why you’re hiding on the floor instead of sitting on the seat?”

“Okay, I am sneaking off. Dad wants me to stick around and help him. I got stuff to do today.” Axel licked his lips. “I heard you asking him questions.”

“So?”

“So if you give me a ride to town, I’ll give you some answers.”

I cranked the key so fast it almost snapped in the ignition.

When we cleared the tree line, Axel popped up like a gopher out of a hidey-hole. “Thanks.”

I shot him a sideways glance. Scrawny kid. Probably took a rash of crap for being small. With his smooth skin and slight frame he seemed younger than Levi and the others. “I don’t see any reason to beat around the bush, Axel. Tell me about the Warrior Society.”

Axel recited what I already knew, almost by rote. But slowly, as if he expected to drag it out until we reached town and he’d make his escape without really giving me any new information.

Screw that. I jammed on the brakes and the back end skidded. “Enough bullshit. I’ve heard this. I want to know how you managed to leave the group when no one else could.”

He slumped in his seat. “Because of Albert. He started running away. His ma called my ma and blabbed some of what Albert had told her about the group. Even though my folks are divorced, Ma talked to Dad and they both forbid me from participating.”

“And you quit just because they demanded it?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I’m the youngest in the group, and I don’t got a car or a cell phone. I didn’t want to seem like a pussy or a little kid to them, so I told everyone I thought it was a stupid group, against tradition, and that’s why I wanted to quit.”

“But you didn’t believe it was?”

“At first, it was really cool to be a part of it. Part of them. But then…” Axel studied his fingernails. “Then it changed when they came around. When school got out, my ma sent me to Rapid City to live with my cousins for the summer, so I really didn’t have a choice.”

“So why are you back here now? This isn’t a safe place to be.”

No answer.

I kept pushing. “I can’t believe if your parents sent you away before any of your friends were killed that they’d let you come back now.” Ping. Lightbulb moment. “They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

Axel shook his head. “I heard what happened to Sue Anne. Freaked me out. I needed to get back here. My cousin’s buddy was coming to the rez, and he gave me a ride. Dropped me off on the road and I hid out in Dad’s shop. I was gonna call one of my friends to pick me up, but I heard you were headed into town and I thought I’d hitch a ride.”

Kid probably heard the desperation in my voice as I’d tried to talk to his father. Truth was: I was desperate and wasn’t about to blow this opportunity. “Fine. I won’t turn around and take you straight back to your dad if you tell me something.”

“What?”

“Who are the leaders of the group?”

Silence. He wouldn’t even look at me.

“I’m not kidding, Axel. Tell me.”

Axel spun in his seat. “Or you’ll what? Dump me out here and make me walk to town? Shee. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to walk. Nothing you threaten me with is as scary as what they’ll do to me if they find out I talked to you.”

“Yeah? Maybe being seen with me in town is all it’d take to tip them off that you and I were chatting, so why don’t we skip the secret bullshit pact and you tell me what I want to know.”

He blanched. “You were the one.”

“One what?”

“The one who got Sue Anne to talk. You’re the reason she’s dead.”

That statement ratcheted my guilt up another notch and I lashed out. “Wrong, I wasn’t the one who slit her throat. They did. And they’ll do it again. Maybe to you.”

“You don’t feel a bit guilty for getting her killed, do you?”

My patience shattered. I grabbed him by the shirtfront and shook him. “You have no idea what I feel. No idea what it’s like to see that girl carved up and covered in blood and discarded like garbage. They bound and gagged her and left her to bleed to death on my porch. My porch, Axel. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t save her. Just like I couldn’t save my nephew. And I’ll be goddamned if I’ll sit around and watch these sadistic fucking… murderers kill anyone else…” My voice cracked and trailed off when I noticed his eyes were wide with fear.

I released him abruptly, sucker-punched by shame. Bullying a young kid wasn’t the answer to any questions. Ever. I slammed the truck back in gear, hating that I’d probably brought this dead end upon myself by violence and intimidation.

Axel broke the silence in the cab when we were on the outskirts of town. “Stop here.”

I pulled off to the side of the road, expecting him to jump out and run like hell.

He didn’t. He fiddled with the straps on his backpack. “It was shitty, what I said to you. I know you’re not any more responsible for Sue Anne getting killed than I am for bringing her into the group in the first place.”

Seemed I wasn’t the only one suffering from guilt.

“So I just wanted to say thanks for the ride. And I’m sorry about Levi. He was… cool.”

I nodded.

Axel opened the door. He paused.

I held my breath. Please. Please help me.

His knuckles were white where he gripped the dash. “Know what? You’re right. I’m sick of this shit. Out County Road Nineteen, about eight miles past that old ranch where them religious freaks took over, there’s a National Grasslands sign. Go about another half mile closer to the rez, where the land turns hilly and there’s a deep ditch on the left side. Straight down that steep hill, along the bottom of a dried up creekbed, are some trees and stuff. Where the bushes end is a flat spot with a fire pit ringed with stones. That’s where we’re meeting tonight with the leaders. Just after dusk.” He bailed out of the truck and took off across the field.

I spun a cookie in the road and headed home. I wasn’t exactly sure of the area Axel had been talking about, but I knew someone who would be. “Hey, boss. I need your Indian tracking skills. Can you pick me up at my house in an hour?”

Rollie and I didn’t talk much after I filled him in on what I’d learned from Axel. We both knew it wasn’t my expert PI skills that’d gotten me to this point, but sheer dumb luck.

We bumped along, seemed we were counting the miles by inches. The road curved sharply and the terrain went from level to hilly. Rollie slowed and parked in a pull-off in front of a set of grooved tracks, which disappeared over the edge of the hill. “I’m pretty sure it’s down there.”

“You coming?”

“Nope. I’m too damn old to go traipsing around in the muck. I’ll wait here and play lookout. If I honk the horn, stay put.”

I hiked down the hillside to find a spot close enough to the action so I could hear and see what was going on tonight, but far enough away that I’d be part of the scenery.

At the bottom, in a flat area scraped clear of foliage, sat a fire pit ringed with the large flat stones Axel mentioned. Smaller white ones lined the inside. Were those the rocks Chet told me he’d seen the guys hauling? Is this where they performed all the rituals?

My gaze scanned the terrain. A couple of boulders had tumbled down and were imbedded in the rocky slope, but weren’t big enough to hide behind. I homed in on the sparse scrub oak bushes scattered along the back of the draw.

I could enter about two hundred yards down from the ridge. Seemed to be my best option. To test the theory, I crawled from the backside through the underbrush, pushing aside decaying leaves and breaking off low-lying branches so I’d have an unobstructed view. I mentally marked my spot and hiked up to my access point, leaving a clear set of footprints to Rollie’s truck, in case the Warrior Society members were practicing Indian tracking skills.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I’ll be shaving it close to keep them from seeing me, but I’m sure I can make it work. If not, and they do see the whites of my eyes… I doubt any of them can outrun me.” None of them could outshoot me, but it probably wasn’t smart to bring that up.

“Good.” Rollie aimed the truck at the ditch and spun a U-turn. “Now, when you come out here tonight, make sure you don’t drive past and miss it.”

“You have a string or something I could use as a marker? Since I’ll be coming from the other direction?”

“Check under the seat.”

I unearthed a piece of white nylon rope. I jumped out intending to comb the ditch for a stick.

The driver door slammed. “Hang on, I’ve got a stake.” Rollie rooted around in the truck bed, holding out a short chunk of metal as thick as a piece of rebar.

“This’ll work.” The parched earth had little give, but I screwed it in deep enough so the wind wouldn’t blow it over. I tied the cord around the top. No one would see my flag unless they were specifically looking for it.

After we’d returned to the truck, Rollie said, “You gonna sneak in, using some of them stealth tactics Uncle Sam taught you, eh?”

“That’s the plan.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Fumbled for another cigarette. Still, he didn’t speak his mind. He puffed away as we tooled down the gravel road in silence. It freaked me out a little because Rollie rarely curbed his tongue.

“Spit it out, Rollie.”

“What are you gonna do? Especially if you hear something about them killing Levi? Pull out your Desert Eagle and mow ’em all down? Show ’em ‘No Mercy’ hell-bent on vengeance?”

Feeling belligerent that he’d found a flaw in my plan, I retorted, “If I do, it’s no less than what they deserve.”

He shook his head, staring at me, his eyes bleak, his weathered red face wrinkled with concern.

“Jesus. What now?”

“If you are capable of mass execution, then you ain’t no different than the terrorists you been fighting the last few years. Think about it before you do something you can’t undo.”

Rollie flipped on the radio. Conway Twitty’s “Tight Fitting Jeans” effectively ended all conversation.

We didn’t exchange another word until we said good-bye as he dropped me off at the top of the driveway.

Dog-tired, I trudged upstairs. I had a long night behind me and I might have a long night ahead of me. I crawled between the sheets, still tangled from my romp with Dawson, and conked out.

Around dusk I donned gray-and-black camouflage. Tied my hair in a ponytail and swirled greasepaint on my face. I loaded the pockets of my flack jacket: binoculars, Bowie knife, my Browning High Power, my Sig, and an extra clip for each just in case. Rollie’s warning flashed in my mind. What would I do if I heard a confession?

Worry about it if and when it happened.

It weirded me out, dressing for recon in my frilly, floral bedroom. Seemed I’d performed this ritual in another lifetime. Last time I’d been in Iraq. Last time I’d been 100 percent.

The disjointed sensation lingered as I climbed into the truck. I didn’t play the radio. My mind blanked, my sole concentration on breathing slow and deep so it would look like I wasn’t breathing at all.

I cruised the edge of the road. The second my headlights caught the flash of white, I parked in the ditch and turned off the engine. Cut the interior light, slipped out the passenger door and eased down the steep incline.

The ground was mucky from the rain. My boots felt like cement blocks from the caked-on mud. When I reached the spot where I’d cleaned out the underbrush, I belly-crawled into position on my elbows.

Seven figures were crouched around the bonfire. I didn’t recognize anyone with my naked eye so I pulled out my binoculars.

The attendees had coated their faces with red and white war paint, making it hard to tell who was who. Moser stood sturdy as a tree. The sunken chest belonged to Randall. Short one, Little Bear. Bulky guy… Bucky. Axel was tasked with dragging material for the fire from the outskirts of the group. A broad-shouldered man sat with his back to me. His face was aimed at the rocks, so I couldn’t see it.

A strange feeling unfurled in my gut.

The guy standing, doing all the talking, seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him either. I listened.

“-making such a big deal about it.”

“We’re making a big deal because our friends are dead. And you can’t give us no good reason why. This wasn’t ’sposed to be part of it. Albert’s accident-”

“Yeah,” Moser interrupted. “We shoulda told the cops the truth about what happened. Now people are talking. Chasing us down and asking questions. Thinking we’re killing people. Ain’t gonna be long before-”

“Did your ancestors surrender when faced with adversity? Remember what happened to Lakota warriors when they practiced their religious rituals? They were slaughtered. If anyone knew, especially law enforcement, that a bunch of young Indian males were renewing some of those sacred rites, it wouldn’t matter whether or not Albert’s death was accidental. They’d arrest you.” He pointed to each person. “All of you. You’d spend the rest of your lives in the penitentiary.”

No one answered him.

I’d heard that voice before. Where?

Axel tossed the pile of tumbleweeds on the fire. A flash of eager yellow flames engulfed the desiccated plant, instantly burning it into red coals. As he poked the embers, he said, “We ain’t talking about Albert. We’re talking about the others. Did you kill them? Levi and Sue Anne?”

Everyone jabbered at once.

The big man stood, lifted his arm to the sky. Metal glinted in the fire’s orange glow. He fired in the air. Twice.

Immediate silence.

My heart pounded like a tom-tom. Not many men that size in this county. Three I knew of off the top of my head. One was dead. One worked for the man who’d threatened me. One had woken in my bed this morning. The man started to turn-I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut-but I kept the binoculars trained on him. Even as my hands shook and the pitiful mantra of please don’t let it be him began a loop in my head.

The brightness of the fire illuminated the man’s wrinkled red face. Not Dawson, thank God.

Hiram Blacktower.

But my relief was short-lived when I realized the man Hiram was talking to, the man in charge, was Hope’s boyfriend, Theo Murphy.